High Striker

Chapter 1 - High Striker: Millionaire or bust buttons

[Lena's apartment, October 14th, 4:47 PM]

The iPad smelled like aluminum and the faint lavender of Lena's hand cream. She sat cross-legged on the living room rug, surrounded by charger cables and mugs with half-inch rims of cold coffee, sorting apps into folders. Outside, October rain scratched against the windowpanes. She dragged Instagram into Social. Dragged Notes into Productivity. Then she stopped.

An icon sat in the bottom corner that she had never downloaded. High Striker. The graphic looked like a vintage carnival strength tester, brass and crimson, the kind she remembered from county fairs as a child, the puck slamming up toward the bell.

She tapped it.

The screen died to black. Carnival lights flickered up-amber, magenta, electric blue. A digital puck sat at the bottom of a vertical meter marked 1 through 10. Below it, a single button glowed arterial red.

Instructions materialized in serif font: Hold the button. Release exactly when the puck reaches 10. Perfect timing wins the prize in dollars. Missing wins the prize in pounds!

A second line: winning prize is $10,000

Lena laughed, the sound dry in her throat. "Sure thing, so worst case ill get some money exchanged?"

She pressed her thumb down. The puck shot upward, fast. She panicked and released.

The puck stopped at 1.

The screen buzzed like a dying fly. Round Lost.

She shrugged. "That's it?" She stood, brushing dust from her thighs. For some reason she felt a very slight sense of warmth envelope her body just then, like the opposite of a cold chill.

She sat again. Second attempt. This time she overthought it, watching the numbers blur. She let go.

1 again.

The screen flashed. Once again a warmth bloomed beneath her skin, starting at her core and radiating outward. Like being hugged by a kind ghost.

Third attempt. She slowed her breathing. The puck climbed. She released.

Five

The screen buzzed. "Pounds added!"

It wasn't gradual. It was immediate. Her jeans cinched tight across her hips. She felt her thighs thicken, flesh pressing against the inseam. Lina couldnt see it, but her stomach, once flat with the faint outline of abs, now carried an ever so slight soft, pale mound.

Fourth try. Her heart hammered against her ribs. The puck rose. She let go

Seven


The warmth hit her like a wave. Her ass spread against the fabric of her underwear, cotton cutting into widening hips. Love handles spilled over the waistband. She turned sideways at her reflection in the glass cabinet. Her belly pushed out, a distinct but subtle curve now, casting a small shadow. Her face had softened, jawline less sharp. She looked like she'd swallowed a month of beer and pizza in a single second. But to her own eyes in the distorted reflection it was hard to tell with great detail "must be bloated from that pasta I ate" she thought to herself.

Fifth attempt. Desperation now. The puck climbed. She released.

Six


Her shirt rode up of its own accord, exposing the bottom swell of her stomach. She felt her breasts lift and spread, bra cups overflowing. The back of her arms had developed a plushness and lost thier tone.

Sixth attempt. Her fingers trembled. The puck shot up. Eight... nine... she held one fraction longer.

Ten.

Confetti exploded. The screen erupted in gold. PERFECT! Congratulations! Your prize has been delivered. Dolars deposited.

Her phone buzzed. Deposit: 10,000.00.

She didn't care. She opened the app again. "If it worked once..."

She played again. The puck climbed. Ten. She released.

Ten.

Another 10,000. She stood started to stand to do a celebratory dance but as she bent to stand up there was a loud riiiip heard from behind her. The back seam of her Levi's split open, exposing cotton underwear and the fresh swell of an ass that had grown two sizes in an hour. She froze, one hand still raised in celebration, the other reaching back to touch the torn denim and the warm, unfamiliar flesh spilling through the gap.

"Oh my god," she whispered.

She peeled the jeans down her hips, each inch revealing more of a body she didn't recognize. Her thighs were thicker, dimpled with the faint orange-peel texture of cellulite at the outer edges. Her belly hung over the waistband of her underwear, soft and pale. She turned to the mirror in only her bra and panties, and the stranger staring back had wide hips, a rounded ass, and breasts that strained the cups. Still in shock she stepped on her bathroom scale; it read 150. Twenty pounds. Exactly twenty.

She looked at the apps message history. "Pounds deposited." Was listed five times before finally reading dollars deposited.

Then she looked at her phone. 20,000. Two rounds. Two perfect rounds.

Her hands traced the new softness of her stomach, the way it folded when she sat. She felt the cellulite on her outer thighs, the texture alien beneath her fingertips. She should be horrified. She should be crying. But her bank account glowed on the screen, and something dark and hungry uncurled in her chest. Twenty pounds for twenty thousand dollars. That was... that was a bargain. Wasn't it?

She stared at her reflection, at the girl with the soft belly and the wide hips, and she thought: I could do it again. I could get it right every time. I could be rich.

She pulled her ruined jeans the rest of the way off and stood there in her underwear, twenty pounds heavier, twenty thousand dollars richer, and she didn't put the iPad down.

───

[Lena's apartment, October 15th, 7:15 PM]

The doorbell rang. Lena opened it to find Emily, Rachel, and Mia huddled in the hallway, shaking rain from their hair. The corridor smelled of wet wool and Thai takeout from the restaurant downstairs.

"You're seriously making us do this on a Thursday?" Emily asked, stepping inside. She was the shortest of the group, five-foot-four, with a gymnast's tight body and auburn hair she kept in a severe ponytail. She wore a cropped leather jacket and high-waisted black jeans that showed the sharp V of her hips.

Rachel followed, six inches taller, all long limbs and angles, her dark hair still damp. "Lena, you look... different."

"I told you. The app." Lena had changed into a loose sundress, the only thing in her closet that still fit. The fabric clung to her new hips and the swell of her breasts. She'd weighed herself again before they arrived. Still 150. The twenty pounds hadn't vanished.

Mia came last, five-foot-two and bird-boned, wearing a vintage band tee and ripped fishnets. She had the kind of metabolism that let her eat donuts at midnight without consequence. "Show me this thing," she said, adjusting her round glasses.

Lena handed over the iPad. She explained the rules. The numbers. The money. The weight.

Mia laughed. "So if I fuck up, I get fat? Bullshit." She stepped on Lena's scale. 115. "Watch. I'll prove it's fake."

She held the button. The puck shot up. She let go at five.


The screen buzzed. Round Lost.

Mia stood. Her fishnets felt... maybe a little tighter? She pulled at the waistband of her skirt. "Okay, that's... whatever. I'm bloated."

"Again," Rachel said, arms crossed.

Mia played. Five.


Her band tee lifted, exposing a strip of belly that was no longer concave. It was soft. She poked it, eyes wide. "No way."

Third attempt. Five.


Her bra straps cut into her shoulders. Her breasts pressed forward, rounding the cotton. She stepped onto the scale. 130. Exactly fifteen pounds heavier. The room fell silent.

"Pounds deposited," Lena whispered.

───

[Lena's apartment, October 15th, 8:42 PM]

They sat in a circle on the rug, the iPad in the center like a Ouija board. Outside, the rain had turned to sleet.

"So we agree," Lena said. "We do this together. One million dollars. A hundred perfect rounds. I already have two. We need ninety-eight more."

"And we rotate," Emily said, pulling her ponytail tighter. "You play until you hit ten. Then you pass. Fair is fair."

"Fair," Rachel agreed.

Mia rubbed her newly soft stomach. "Fine. But I'm not stopping until we're done."

Lena went first. She held the button. The puck climbed. Ten. She released. Ten. Perfect. She passed to Emily.

Emily took the iPad. Her first turn. She held. Released at three.


She gasped. Her high-waisted jeans suddenly gripped her hips. "That's... three pounds?" She looked down. A soft swell pushed against her zipper.

She tried again. Four.


Her leather jacket creaked. Her breasts pressed against the lining, suddenly snug.

Again. Six.


Her face flushed. Her thighs had filled out, pressing the seams of her jeans, her ass spreading against the wood floor. "This is bullshit," she muttered. She tried once more. Ten.

PERFECT.

Emily stood, brushing off her jeans. Thirteen pounds. Her waistband dug now, her hips wider, her thighs touching when she walked to the kitchen for water. She looked down at herself. "It's not that bad," she told Rachel. "I mean, thirteen pounds. I can lose that in a month."

She passed to Rachel, her hands shaking. "Your turn."

Rachel took it. Held. Released. Ten. First try. Confetti.

Rachel stood, checking herself in the mirror. Nothing. Flat stomach, long limbs, same as always. She ran her hands down her sides, feeling the sharp hip bones, the gap between her thighs. "Lucky me," she said, but there was guilt in it. She passed to Mia.

Mia held. Released at eight.


Her band tee rode up, exposing a belly that was now a proper pot, round and solid. She tried again. Nine.


Her breasts swelled against the cotton, straining the graphic print. Her fishnets tore at the crotch, her thighs too thick for the mesh. She was breathing hard. Third try. Ten.

Mia stood, wobbling slightly. Twenty-two pounds total. Her skirt cut into her waist, her belly pushing over the band. She looked in the mirror, turning sideways. "Jesus," she whispered. Her ass had grown, round and heavy, and when she walked, her thighs rubbed with a soft friction. "Okay. Okay, this is... this is real. But twenty-two pounds. I can live with it. I can work this off. Just gotta play better."

She passed back to Lena.

Emily stood, pacing. Her jeans groaned with every step. "I just gained thirteen pounds in one turn. Rachel got it first try and gained nothing. This is fucked."

"We agreed to rotate," Rachel said, but she was looking at her own flat stomach with relief.

"Yeah, well, I'm already up thirteen and you're at zero," Emily snapped. "You should go again. Twice. Before I get any bigger."

"That's not the deal," Lena said quietly.

"The deal is stupid," Emily said, but she sat back down, her jeans digging into her newly widened hips.